


Humming Frisk

by ApocalyptiConspiracy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (He just doesn't care), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not sure what this is, Male Frisk but it doesn't really matter, Mentions of Other Humans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pacifist Frisk, Paper stars, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalyptiConspiracy/pseuds/ApocalyptiConspiracy
Summary: For ten years, Frisk loved watching the stars. Sometimes, he would whisper a quiet 'hello,' to them. It must be hard, to stay shining all this time without a little encouragement.Then he fell.He watched the sky swallow the stars, and breathed in, for...When would he say hello to the stars again?





	1. Frisk Sees The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coppery-Gold eyes witness a miracle.
> 
> I wish I could draw this- I really do.  
> I can't convey the feeling I want to in the short piece. Too short, for my standards, but- meh.

The first time Frisk climbed the mountain, Mt. Ebott, he had heard of the legends.

_‘Those who fall down, never come back up.’_

Psshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-

Yeah right.

And so, with a, erm, personal reason, he found himself standing on the precipice of the mountain.

He felt a strange pulling looped around his heart, a yearning that… confused him.

His feet felt unsteady, his legs ready to collapse on him all around. He felt a strange pressure in his ear, with a gaping hole, jagged with tooth-like cracks etched into the ground.

The nothingness spread out in front of him made him dizzy with emotions, all punching and pulling at him to move… to jump in, why don’t you?

Why don’t you?

Wind howled through his ears, and branches rattled all around. A strong gust of wind could probably-

 

Frisk was not surprised that his foot slipped.

 

He was also, unsurprised that the ground crumbled beneath his feet, meters away from the edge-

 

He was, on the whole, not surprised that he fell.

 

Why? Well, Frisk has always had bad luck, so what more is this to just compliment the list?

 

In freefall, his body twisted this way and that, hair floating above him, limbs askew, wind whistling in his ears. He flipped so that his body faced upwards, having the honor to-

Watch the sky disappear from his very eyes, growing smaller and smaller. _‘How deep is this thing?’_

Watching the beautiful, azure-brilliant sky disappear before his eyes, stars winking out like fireflies.

 

He could use thousands and thousands of words to describe the stars, the endless, enormous, unbearable blue night sky, that once threatened to swallow him whole, with how large it was.

It could be serene and golden, pompous and azure-indignant, stormy and completely, irrevocably magnificent, sometimes, if he was lucky, absolutely impossible, a deep ultraviolet to fade to brilliant baby blues and blacks, molten gold and silver streaked across the starry canvas-

Almost like it was going to mock him, at this moment.

He felt tears of his flick and bead, and- oh, how strange…

The tears travelled upwards.

He turned his head downwards, and a tear spiraled into his eye. He blinked rapidly, and gasped. Along the scarily bleached hollow cavern, were tiny dotted luminous cyan crystals, some even glowing dully, a sharp crimson.

Was he going to die? Here, in this crystalline cove?

He felt strangely light and serene, an odd calmness washing over him.

Okay…

Okay.

He… He was fine with that. It was worth it, Frisk thought. If he could die here between smoky darkness and endless windswept- stars, it was worth it.

*Close your eyes.

Frisk… didn’t want to close his eyes. He fell through whistling air, staring at the eternal beauty before him.

He closed his eyes, a restfulness settling him.

He didn’t open them again. Not during his fall.

He breathed. In, out.

 

 

What felt like hours, was only a few countless seconds, though ones that he held with him his entire life. Would, now.

Frisk supposed that his life of bad luck gave him a simple, simple gift.

A miracle.

It was only through a miracle, that he woke up again, laid on a bed of pearly white sand, and heated-amber flowers.

He survived, and now he must survive in this cruel, dark world with only a few stars to point his way.

 

And that was his first fall, his lifeline for many, many others.

It was…

The beginning of the First Chapter.

The Beginning of the First End.


	2. Frisk Sees The Stars

 

 

She lived in the New Home.

She watched as everything crumbled down around her, how each of her children disappeared, their SOULs disappearing one by one.

She couldn’t live with… him, anymore. After he…

She lives in the Ruins, now.

 

\- - Toriel

 

Toriel loves reading. She loves cooking, and creating new things. Every day, she had a routine. She would tend to her garden of yellow, a patch of bittersweet memories, and read at her fire. She would sometimes discover new books lying around, or given to her by her dear friend at the door. He was a source of humor and happiness, a patch of light in her dreary life.

One day, she was cracking jokes with him, laughing so hard she had to pause for breath, when he said,

**“hey, uh, ‘mysterious stranger,’”**

Toriel looked up, leaning against the door.

“Yes, my friend?” She asked curiously.

 **“you did say, that you liked books, right?”** The stranger asks.

“Oh, yes! Why? I’m hearing _… A story to tell!”_ She bursts out.

The stranger laughs out loud. **“’yer a real riot, lady. well, I’m no librarian, but I’ve got a _novel new book_ for you.”**

He slides a book under the door, and she sees a glimpse of white.

Toriel picks up the book. It says, _‘How To Make Paper Stars: Your Every Anime Dream!’_

She can’t hide the giggle that blossoms in her throat. She’s not very good at that…

The mysterious stranger snorts, and says, **“wait, let me explain. I was talking to a friend of mine, a pretty nervous, but smart ‘kinda monster, just, the good type of monster that you’d like, so she gave me the book after hearing that you like books.”**

He pauses, and says, **“oh- don’t worry ‘bout the, uh, identity thing, I just called you a guy who loves a good joke.”**

Toriel chuckles, and says, “Well, thank you for not, erm, revealing my location, or anything else, _my knight.”_

The stranger lets out a laugh. **“your knight in shining, right? ha-ha.”**

Toriel teases, “Even if you are more of a dragon.”

The stranger pauses, and Toriel swears that she can feel a grin through the door.

**“a dragon?”**

Toriel grins. “Let me correct myself; you’re more of a… _drag-on.”_

**“aww, are my jokes that boring?”**

She slides down the down, bringing up her knees and resting the back of her head on the big, metal door that separated her from her friend. Her ears twitched.

“… No. Of course not!”

**“you can’t see it, but i’m blushing. (if skeletons could blush ahahahahah)”**

 

\- - Toriel

 

Toriel stares at the book in her hand. Her friend was so kind as to provide her with some sheets of paper, about 4 stacks of different colors of paper; yellow, green, purple, and blue. She sighs, at tilts her head to look at the ceiling of the Ruins. Those colors…

Well, the process seems to be easy enough, and she can’t seem to find anything else to do. Knitting and croquet get a little dull after over 40 different sweaters of varying types.

  1. Sweaters.



So, she decided to make some tea, and crack open the book. Sipping her tea, she rests her head on her elbow, flipping by page after page.

Cut, flip, tie, turn, pop. 1 star.

Cut, flip, tie, turn, pop. 2 stars.

Cut, flip, tie, turn… 

Cut, flip…

…

Those colors... 

 

Toriel feels something drip onto the piece of paper. She lifts her furry paw to gently touch her face, and wetness startles her.

“… Oh.”

She lets out a sad, quiet laugh.

It’s sad, really. It’s just- she always knew, when her children would…

She always knew when her children would die.

There was always just a tiny- ‘click!’ and her world would go just a little darker, where it would be harder to climb out of bed, harder to live alone, here in the Ruins, living out her shallow life.

It was getting hard to live.

And now Toriel was all-out bawling, her head tilted towards the ceiling in a whining, keening sound, her eyes closed and dribbling tears, the paper at her hands left forgotten.

Had she ever had time to mourn? Had she ever used all of her free-time to embrace and accept the fact that…

They were gone.

She couldn’t save any of them.

She…

She didn’t want to do this anymore.

She didn’t want to have to wave goodbye to a child, not again, pasting on a fake smile, giving them one of her god-effing sweaters, waving them off like a bored NPC. Not when each time, her heart broke, and she had to hide her tears, and swallow her calls to come back.

And every, single time, they walked away from her, from their chance at life, they turned their head, just a little, and gave her a quick smile. It’s like they said, _‘Don’t worry! I’ll fix this world, and we can go to the surface together!’_

She wasn’t stupid, though. Though she was little more than a homely hermit, others lived in the Ruins as well. The day after, or a week later, sometimes, Napstablook would give her a sad glance (not that he isn’t already sad, the poor ghost), or the Froggits would glance at each other warily, like:

_‘You tell her.’_

_‘No, you tell her! Ribbit.’_

_‘Ribbit, ribbit, that’s a terrible idea.’_

_‘Wait. What if… we go catch flies instead?’_

_‘You idiot, we’re monsters, not actual frogs. It’s our game design.’_

_‘Ribbit- oops, wait. Why is Mrs. Goat looking at us like that?’_

Sometimes she wonders if they remember that she understands their native tongue. It’s worth listening to- even if they sound a little loopy sometimes. Game design? How fatalistic!

Toriel sighs, and drags a claw over her eyes. She sniffles, and looks wearily at the paper in front of her.

Her children didn’t have graves.

Her children were remembered as the real monstrosities.

Well. She’s not so sad that she can’t help them out a little. Toriel squints her eyes, and huffs, before sitting up.

That’s right! She can’t go all heart-ache, she has work to do!

Maybe these stars will keep her company until the next human arrives.

She won’t let anyone get their claws on this one. Not this time.

\- -

Toriel makes a jarful of each color paper stars, all separated. She loving creates labels to stick on them, named Yellow; Justice, Green; Kindness, Purple; Perseverance, and Blue; Integrity.

 

She makes a note to tell her friend to maybe get more colored paper; and maybe she can honor all Eight of the fallen children, all Eight of her children.

 

\- - Toriel

 

The child is silent.

Toriel watches the child out of the corner of her eye, as she hums. Her eyes close slightly, framed by long eyelashes, and she turns away. Her arms whisk and turn, whisk and turn, and whip a bowl of batter into shape.

The child sits in an armchair by her hearth, quietly swinging their legs. They turn to look at her every so often, and she sees their eyes open, which- now that she thinks about it, they often close their eyes, just breathing, in and out, seemingly in comfort with the darkness.

Their eyes, whenever open, she could say that they often reflected her own, strangely archaic, and emanating a quiet sadness.

Well. Whether they have eyes like a metallic, reflective coin in the light, or like to close them more often than open, who was she to judge?

Ah, they caught her watching them. Whoops.

Toriel smiled reassuringly, and the child responded with a quiet smile. She chuckled, and decided to ask them what she was pondering over, a few minutes ago.

“Child?” Toriel blinks as the child swings their legs, and looks up at Toriel. They raise their eyes curiously.

“So, hm. I was just wondering, if you had the choice, would you like butterscotch-cinnamon pie, or chocolate cake?”

The child smiles a little wider, as their eyes widen. It looks like they remember something, or recognize something. Hm. Maybe they just… remembered when their parents, or someone that they love baked something.

Toriel thinks of parents in general, and with a negative note, she… is reminded that they would never see their parents again.

Or, rather, they would never get out of here alive.

But! That’s why the child was going to stay with her!

(For as long as it… takes?)

Yes. She would. She didn’t want to waste another life. She didn’t want to spend another minute throwing away the seconds another could share with her, living their life, _enjoying_ their life.

She had spent too much time alone.

Quietly mulling over _that_ depressing thought, she didn’t catch the child’s quiet response.

“Ah,” She says, “What did you say, my child?”

The child replies, not looking at her, saying, “… Pie, please,”

They mull over something, staring at the fire roaring warmly, and they add,

“… Mom.”

_‘What?’_

Toriel takes a second to mull over the magnitude of the statement, and feel very…

Well.

 

\- - Frisk

 

Toriel smiles at Frisk warmly, and says cheerfully, “Butterscotch-Cinnamon Pie it is!”

She goes back to whipping batter, but he can hear her humming slightly, a little happier.

He goes back to watching the fire, but she, if she would turn her face to watch him, she would see a tiny smile on his face.

 

\- - Toriel

 

She learns that his name is Frisk, not much later.

Their night, though Frisk does not know it, is much warmer than her cold, soulless nights when she would regret and hate everything she had done. Those nights, she always found it calming to put on her reading glasses, and warm up a cup of tea. She always thought a book was a good way to pass the time!

And now, here she was, sitting in her favorite chair, sipping a cup of tea and reading her best, most interesting book.

_‘72 Facts About Snails’!_

All you need to know about your every need and use for snails in Snowdin, Waterfall, Hotland, or if you happen to be in the Ruins!

The section on the Ruins is the section with the least information. It seems the author didn’t know much about it, (understandable, given the un-openable door to the Ruins) but she appreciates the sentiment.

Toriel takes a minute to peruse the front, a dashingly-made cover on 153 different types of snails, all lovingly illustrated on the front. Her claws trace the cover, and…

“Mom?”

With a startled shriek, her book jumps a few inches from her jolt, and she stares at Frisk slowly crossing the stairs. She chuckles a bit, embarrassed, and her claw rises to slide down her face as she looks away.

Embarrassed is an understatement, of course.

She stands up, smoothing her dress as she turns to Frisk.

“Dear, why are you up so late?”

Frisk blinks, their eyes looking questioningly at her as they point at her.

Toriel laughs.

“Are you asking… Why I’m up so late?”

Frisk nods his assent, and she twists her claws nervously.

At least he’s not asking the way out of the Ruins.

Toriel replies, “Well, I guess… sleep isn’t coming to me tonight.” She sighs, and says, “That’s why I’m… here. I find that tea always helps.”

Frisk nods, and walks towards her. She looks at him, question in mind, but he turns, and sits in the armchair next to her.

He says, “… Same.”

His head drops, and leans on the armchair’s cushion. He blinks slowly, and watches the fire. It seems to calm him, she figures.

He looks at her for second, and for that one second, she can see… regret. She can see regret in his eyes, and in a moment of clarity, she realizes that, again, she had those eyes.

“…”

“…”

“… Hah!”

Toriel cannot stop the small giggle that bubbles up inside of her, and she put her hand in front of her mouth. Frisk looks at her alarm.

She hurries to explain. “Oh, oh! I just meant…”

“Not everyone is a super-monster.”

Frisk pauses for a second.

“I meant super-human, for you, of course.”

Toriel smiles, and sits back down. She says, “Well, it’s perfectly fine to join me. If you can’t sleep well either, I’m perfectly happy to join you.”

Frisk smiles, a wider smile then she’s seen on him ever. He nods happily, and walks over to her library, and taps on it. He looks up at her, and tilts his head.

“… Can you… read me a story?”

Toriel’s heart melts, and she smiles brightly.

“Of course, my child. Do you want to join me?”

He nods, and brings a book. Frisk jumps onto the side of the armchair with a ‘hup!’ and a swing of his legs. He leans into her with a practiced ease and familiarity, which she would find strange if she was not busy melting into a happy puddle of, well, happiness.

Just one day. Just a few hours with him, please. Before he asks the question. She sighs, leans into the couch, and took the book gently from Frisk.

Reading out loud, she said, “The Story of Our Dear Prince.”

Hm. To that he chose this book…

Frisk lets out a content sigh, and though she could not see it, he was looking longingly at the cover, an illustrated picture of the Prince, child of the King and Queen, and his friend. The book was, in actuality, a kid’s book, for young monsters, and omitted some… fairly important details.

Toriel felt him relax, his head on her shoulder, and she sighed, flipping over the cover to the pages.

Anything for a few more moments with her child.

\- -

She hugs her child goodbye, one last time, in a scorched, blackened room.

She did this.

Her flames roasted the walls, and hurt her child.

Her child.

Frisk.

They seem to bear no ill will to her, and though their face disguises what emotions they may carry, when they hug for what she thinks is the last time, she thinks she hears a small sniffle. They separate, and she resists looking at her dress for tear marks.

They wink out from their blank-faced attitude, and give her a watery smile, eyes still closed.

She fears that she may find tears in those, like hers.

They step away.

She does not stop the tears from flowing down her dress- not this time.

They turn, she thinks she sees a hint of those coppery eyes like cat’s pupils.

She does not call out. They choose their own destiny now.

They walk away. Their steps mingle with the slight echoes of the Ruins, and she breaths in.

_For when will the stars ever say hello to him again?_

They control their fate.

She believes, and she knows that every monster out there that they meets, will believe. Their hearts will mingle, and they will overcome even death. She can feel it in her aura, her magic, the tips of her fingers, her horns, and her tongue. There’s something heavy about Frisk that she cannot name. Not quite like magice, but ancient and metallic. It, when she can feel it, lights a heavy spark in her, a fiery and deep warmness that she has not known.

Whereas all of her other children give her different auras that collide with her magic, he is different.

And she feels that he knows it.

\- -

She’s going to have to ask her friend for red-colored paper; not to mourn, but to honor them.

Also, it completes the huge rainbow of jars she has in her room.

(Little does she know that he’s a little shit, and that he stole each of a colored-star from each jar. She’ll see some scattered around later.)


End file.
